Rightly or wrongly, we had told our children we were expecting another baby.  We aren't naïve, we have experienced loss before, but we were trying to push aside anxiety and make this an exciting family event.  Connor decided that in light of the upcoming addition that he was "THE baby" and that there are no other babies and that is that.  Forever and ever, Amen. He even started to pretend to cry like a baby sometimes.  It made me laugh to watch him crawl up on my lap, look at me and proclaim "I'm the baby, mommy!" and then say "waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!".  Thank God he didn't start asking for diapers again.

Kate, on the other hand, took a more serious approach.

Kate is a sweet, mature, and very considerate child.  She'll be 4 in a few weeks but amazes me with her empathy and loving nature on a daily basis.  She loves babies and even before we were expecting again had asked me on the playground if we could maybe have a baby in our house one day.  When I found out I was pregnant, she was so excited.  She would kiss my tummy and tell anyone that would listen that there were "three babies!!!".  Not exactly good for trying to be incognito about pregnancy, but sweet and heartwarming nonetheless.

Explaining loss to her has been very hard.  The best way I could try to describe it to her was that God gives us babies and that sometimes He has to take them back to heaven sooner than we would like.  I have been having trouble with her recent questions and conversations.   

Right after we found out about our loss:

Me: "Kate, sometimes God has to take babies back home before we want Him to.  I'm sorry, but mommy doesn't have a baby in her tummy anymore."

Kate:  **thinking for a few seconds** "God takes babies?  Did it hurt when God took the baby from your tummy?  How did He get it out?"

Me: "I'm fine honey.  My heart hurts, but I will be okay"

Kate:  "My heart hurts too".

Then this morning, I told her we were going to a play date and that there would be new friends for her to meet and play with:

Kate: "Will there be any babies there?"

Me:  "Maybe"

Kate: "I want a baby in our house"

Me: "I know, honey.  Maybe one day, God willing"

Kate:  **runs to the dining room, grabs her markers, asks for paper** 

Me:  "You want to draw?"

Kate:  "I am drawing a picture for God so that He will bring us a new baby"

The counselor in me feels horrible that I have dragged her into my own grief.  I feel like I have done a disservice to my young children (who really don't understand the concept of conception and miscarriage and birth) by getting them excited and then ripping it away.  However, I have been impressed by Kate's ability to ask questions and try to find her own three-year-old solutions.  It has certainly been a learning experience for me as a mother.

If we are lucky enough to get pregnant again one day I have no idea if we will share the news with them early again.  Probably not.  And that makes me sad. 

It has happened three times now.  Laying on an ultrasound table, waiting for the wonderful moment that you should see your new baby for the first time, and then nothing.  Quiet.  The silence descends upon you like a wet blanket, the eyes of the ultrasound tech look desperately for any sign of life, and then you know.  Or at least I know.

Three times.

The blog has been quiet for the past 6 weeks.  I have been feeling tired, sick, and happy.  We found out I was pregnant again on my 32nd birthday in April.  It was sooner than we were expecting, but we are both well aware than any pregnancy is worth celebrating - timing be damned.  We both felt like our family wasn't complete and were so excited for another set of tiny toes, smiles, and of course dose of craziness and chaos that kids bring.

Everything was normal.  I was extremely sick, tired, and took some solace in those symptoms.  With my previous losses I had been worried because of bleeding or other clues that made me doubt.  I had no doubts this time.  This loss has hit me like a freight train.  I had no idea.  How can a woman not know what is going on in her own body?  How can her body hide such a loss?  I feel betrayed and out of control.

I have been pregnant four times.  I have experienced the incredibly isolating dark ultrasound experience three times.  Two singletons and Kate's twin.  It isn't fair.  I don't understand.  I feel completely alone.  I know I'm not alone.  Pregnancy is terrifying - like playing Russian roulette with my heart, only for some reason my gun seems to have more than one bullet in it. 

Miscarriage is extremely isolating and that is probably why I am writing about it.  Because the loneliness I felt going in for my second D&C the other day isn't something women should have to endure.  There is something very cruel about the emotional and physical ramifications of loss, but then the societal expectation that it be hidden beneath a thick family veil.  Nobody wants to offend the masses with something so raw and misunderstood. So women suffer in silence, careful not to step on the toes of people who aren't in their intimate inner sanctum.  I am ashamed to say that I even feel shame.  I know that isn't fair to me.  But there is a societal value put on pregnancy and babies and fertility - like I am less of a woman for my struggle. 

I have this desperate desire to take back control of my body.  To force myself to be happy with my children and move on.  Even the nurse in recovery said (in an effort to be upbeat) that I am so lucky to have two kids "a boy and a girl even!" and should take solace in that.  I do take solace in my children.  Believe me that their little faces have brought me out of the deep fog much faster than anything could have done when we had our first miscarriage in 2007.  But Kate and Connor, as wonderful as they are, cannot erase the deep sorrow I have for the three babies I have lost.  And for the potentially brutal realization that we might, because of our loss history, be forced to not build our family how we desire.  That Tuesday's ultrasound will be my last ever.

Control.  Something that women who have ever had problems conceiving or carrying to term wish they could harness somehow.  Like if I wish and pray and hope and visualize it enough, it will just happen.  Close my eyes and wake up to the sound of a newborn crying in the delivery room, safe in my arms, devoid of the terror I have surrounding pregnancy.  I have this huge urge to go run and run and run until I can't physically take one more step.  Just to exhaust myself because I said so - not because someone else has told me my child is no longer living.  This is exhausting emotionally and impossible to describe accurately to people lucky enough to be on the happy side of the statistics.

If you are struggling with infertility or loss, you aren't alone. 

May 10th is Military Spouse Appreciation Day.  You will see a lot on the internet today giving thanks to the strong men and women in our nation that hold down the home front while their spouse is away.  One who move their lives and try to make a home in countless locations.  All the while trying to keep a graceful presence, a supportive and gentle demeanor, and a strong foundation for those around them.

Next month my husband and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage.  10 years of military spouse-dom.  10 years since I was welcomed into the Navy by a less-than-gentle slap on the rear.  Thank goodness for crinoline!

I have learned a lot in the past 10 years, 5 moves, and 3 deployments (not that I'm counting...).

I will admit, when I first entered this sorority of military wives I thought some of this endless stream of accolades was a little over the top.  Cheesy, indulgent, and even embarrassing.  I didn't know that my impression of this life would be completely different than the reality of  it.  Didn't realize that while moving over and over, switching jobs left and right, choosing new schools for your kids every 2 years, and saying goodbye to new friends a heartbeat after you meet them would be completely doable in the moment, that I would look back and feel my chest tighten.  That I would exhale and feel like I had held my breath for years.

It is hard work.  And yes I said it: work.  The research and planning I do to move our family seamlessly from place to place is thorough and time consuming and frustrating.  My payment is a positive transition into a nice home for my husband and children, a good school for my kids, a community of friends for me.  On a lighter note, it is buying furniture that will work in "every house", curtains that will work on "every window", cars that could theoretically be shipped to Europe, and making sure keep meticulous shot records of our pets in the event of a move to Hawaii. 

Even as I wrote one of my longest and most acutely researched papers in graduate school on military spouse career prospects I thought "this won't apply to me, I'll make it work/have more energy/more luck".  My 24 year old self had never experienced that grinding first year of work in a new place.  Learning the ropes, the people, the culture, and trying to build back a reputation from nothing.  Over and over and over.  I had never felt the pain of leaving a job that I loved with students I had grown close to and co-workers I considered close friends.  Over and over and over.

My children are still young.  I still haven't experienced watching them have to say goodbye to established friendships, sports teams, and schools.  That anticipation makes me sad, and also makes me realize how resilient and amazing military children are.  They deserve our appreciation too.

So on a day where I know many military spouses will be modest and defer to their husband or wife in uniform, pointing to them as the hero of the house and refusing to accept any accolades, I will be one to proudly proclaim my appreciation.  And accept a pat on the back.  Because after 10 years, I know that what we do as spouses is hard.  It is not typical.  And it deserves praise. 

There are pros and cons to moving every two or three years.  You don't grow roots, but you get to see a lot of new things.  You make many friends from many areas and countries, but you have to say "see you later" far too often.  And on a lighter note, you get to experience the local food and shopping scene, but you never become that "regular" that goes there for decades.

By far, one of my favorite things about the military lifestyle is living in areas long enough to explore the local culture and vibe.  I am one of those people who loves to try new restaurants, wineries, and visit small downtown areas.  You won't find me in a chain restaurant unless it is a dire circumstance (like, a road trip where even Yelp can't find me a place other than Cracker Barrel) and my husband makes me pay in cash at Wal Mart because he doesn't want any paper record of us ever shopping there.  No, not kidding.  Supporting local families and getting a quality product and a good shopping/eating experience are things we appreciate very much.  (I realize I might sound hipster or snotty and I hope I don't.  Believe me, I love Amazon Prime a little too much.)

Yesterday Johnny and I got to experience a wonderful local farm experience.  For my birthday, we bought tickets to a Wine and Cheese Appreciation event at Green Dirt Farm.  It was a pairing of farmstead cheese with the Amigoni, a local urban Kansas City winery.  And as if that wasn't enough, we happened to be seated next to a writer/reviewer from Edible Magazine.  Um, can I have her job, please?

I call myself a runner, but I know I am probably not as avid or dedicated as millions of others.  I love to run, the endorphin rush is amazing.  I love the solitude, the breathing, the music, and even the clothes.  On a crisp day I cannot think of anything more satisfying than a long run in a pretty place.

Non-runners don't really understand runners.  They don't understand why people would pay a good sum of money to hoof it 3 or 10 or 13 or 26 miles.  For most, it isn't the race itself.  It isn't the medal, or the "swag", or even the post-race beer. It is the feel of these racing events.  The people, the support, the beautiful encouragement from fellow runners and spectators.  Racing events truly are some of the most inspirational and positive places you can be.  All shapes and sizes, all athletic abilities, all nationalities coming together going one direction and pushing each other on.  The avid marathoner pushing on a first time racer.  The mom who has lost 30 pounds of baby weight and looks at that finish line with more meaning and pride than she can explain.  The sister of the cancer survivor who went from the couch to a 5k to a 1/2 Marathon and beyond in the name of her cause.  Lots of energy, moving together, helping each other.  Aside from the very elite, most are not competing with anyone but themselves.

Green grass, shorts, a nice breeze, sidewalk chalk, and a flower lei...  What more could a 3 year old ask for?

Slowly but surely the temperatures are starting to warm up.  It is still in the 30s in the morning, but by mid afternoon we are over 50 which feels rather balmy.  I, like so many others, get annoyed with constant weather complaints on Facebook.  It is like the complaining during daylight savings time.  It is what it is, it happens every year, it is cyclical, get over it, blah blah blah.  I know.  So when I whine about the weather I pretty much want to slap myself in the face.  I'm sure people have defriended me over my winter blues.  But people, this winter has been the longest of my life.  Probably because we moved in December so any time you are adjusting to a new area where you know not a soul and your kids have no friends and you are stuck in a place that isn't quite organized and it is 10 degrees outside you just want to sob.  And I did cry.  It snowed our first night in Kansas in early December and the last snow mound (dear God, please let that be the last snow mound) just melted a few days ago. It was the first time we moved where I just felt out of sorts and completely out of my element.

But as the days are getting longer and the temperatures are rising higher I am starting to feel much better.  More at home and less like the grumpy hermit I had become.  Things are looking up!  I am ready for bubbles and playgrounds and the pool and tank tops and flip flops and even complaining about humidity and mosquitos.  As I approach my 32nd birthday at the end of the month I am finally comfortable admitting that I am most comfortable in warm to hot climates with lots of sunshine.  My husband and sister (and most of my extended family who are avid skiers) always make me feel like such an outcast with my dislike of winter.  But I am embracing it.  I am a greenhouse flower and just get sad looking if the temperatures drop below 50.

So there you have it, an entire post about the weather.  Like an awkward conversation with a stranger on an elevator.  Happy Spring!

It's here! I'm officially published!


For a good portion of last year I was contracted by Blue Star Families, a wonderful non profit organization that advocates for military members and their families, to help re-write a deployment toolkit.  "The toolkit" as we came to call it over the months of research, re-writes, and edits, is a comprehensive guide for families of all branches of the service (including the Coast Guard) to prepare for, endure, and reintegrate after a deployment. 

We are all very proud of the final product and extremely happy that it has come together.  If you are a military spouse, please download the free toolkit and share it with your support groups.  It is full of checklists, resources for military families, mental health information, information about children during deployments, and even information for extended family and friends.

As I was researching and writing I was amazed at the information available to us these days, but dismayed by how hard it is to wade through and how there are a thousand websites with a few pieces of information.  Hopefully we have created the "one stop shop" for military families facing down deployment. If you check it out, we'd love your feedback!